


Unsteady.

by kingofhearts



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Depression, Eating Disorders, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2018-04-01
Packaged: 2018-08-17 08:12:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 17,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8136854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kingofhearts/pseuds/kingofhearts
Summary: Act  
  
  
  on your impulse—
  
  swallow the bottle,
  
  cut a little deeper,
  
  put the gun to your chest.





	1. Prologue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for: self-harm, drugs/drug addiction, alcohol/alcohol addiction, other addictions, domestic abuse, physical/emotional/mental abuse, sexual abuse/rape, etc.

_“Reality, or illusion?”_

A question he asks himself constantly; daily; hourly.

His life is confusing — and the objective of trying to distinguish what's reality and what's not; what's just an illusion played only in his own mind, certainly hadn't been wished for blindly when blowing out the candles, nor was it particularly on his wish list for Christmas.

Why did he have to be born in this body? Why did he have to be placed where he had been his entire life up until now? Why did it have to be _him_? Why couldn't the Creator's have picked on someone else? Someone more capable; someone more stable, mentally speaking. Or is it that he could have _potentially_ been mentally stable, if only he hadn't gone through everything he had gone through his entire life up until now? Is that it? Hit it right on the mark? If that's correct, then — once more — why did _he_ have to be chosen? Why did _he_ have to be targeted?

  
_“What did I do wrong?”_  


A question he asks himself constantly; daily; hourly.

He wonders if he should ask, “Where did I go wrong?” Where it all started, exactly; wherever he had said something, or wherever he had done something. Or maybe he should ask, “When did I go wrong?” When it all started, exactly; when he had said something, or when he had done something. It _has_ to be his fault. Why else would people target him? They had over seven billion others to choose from, but they chose _him._

_Why?_

No... Just... forget that... He's already asked enough “Why's?” to last a lifetime, and then a reincarnation afterwards. 

He did something wrong; that's the only logical explanation, he thinks.

_Why can’t someone just kill me?_

A question he asks himself constantly... daily... hourly...

_Why can’t I just sleep forever?_

A question he asks himself… growing more and more tiring with each incessantly repeated notion.

_It would be easier if I just let it end—_

A statement he isn’t going to say again, he decides. He won’t have to.

_Why don’t I just..._

A bottle.

_End my suffering here?_

A blade.

_I’m sorry mom and dad,_

A gun.

_I know I’ve let you down._

Why not be certain he does the job right the first time?

_I swear this will be the last time I disappoint you._

Shaky hands, reach.

Pill bottle, lifted.

Cap, twisted off.

Pills, dumped out erratically onto a marbled counter.

A few capsules grabbed, eagerly, and held in his palm. His dull charcoal-colored eyes look at them pensively, almost hesitantly. Then, in one quick movement, they’re popped into his mouth. He grabs the glass cup, turning on the sink and filling it a little ways before taking a gulp, washing the pills down his throat.

_Not enough._

He repeats those motions until he finishes off half the bottle. He feels dizzy. The light bulbs overhead are glaring at him, shining overwhelmingly bright, forcing him to squint.

_Is that enough?_

He stumbles to the side, shoulder hitting the bathroom door with a light thud.

 _‘It feels like enough’_ , he thinks, _‘but what if it isn’t?’_

_I’m not going to be a failure again._

It’s not like it matters, because in the process of thinking that, he managed to slide down onto the floor, sitting on his legs, leaning to the side, holding himself up with the door.

 _‘What if it isn’t enough...?’_ He questions again.

The male reached a hand up onto the counter, blindly searching for the blade he placed there. A bit of feeling around before, one quick movement, the blade was brushed off the counter and fell to the tiled floor, leaving the raven-haired boy with a slice on the central pads and creases of his right pinkie, ring, and middle fingers. He only winced at the feeling due to surprise of the unknown. He has grown accustomed to the feeling long before now.

He pried himself off the door, leaning over to reach for the blade. In that process, he managed to fall forward and to the side with a grunt. He laid there for awhile, eyes shut tight, the feeling of wetness coming onto his thigh. Just a subtle feeling, hardly noticeable, but, for some reason, his senses were heightened, nerves at their peak of sensitivity.

He sighed exasperatedly, opening his eyes finally. He felt overwhelmingly exhausted, and, when he tried to reach for the blade with his left hand, his arm felt too heavy to move. The blade, he thought, would be too much work; take too much effort to add pressure against his skin. So, he decided, to go for the gun. To go for something quick.

With a huff, and more effort than it probably would’ve taken than if he went with the blade — a classic — but, he was invested already, he sat himself up, back against the wall. He grabbed the shotgun, holding it so that he was looking directly down at the barrel. His fingers fumbled around for the trigger, trying to find a position to be able to hold the gun up and manage to pull said trigger and launch a bullet directly into his own skull.

His finger was shaky on the trigger. Not from fear or anxiety. From the pills. It’d taken him a good few minutes to down how much he had, so, by the time he had “finished up,” they were kicking in... which could explain why he was dizzy. But that doesn’t matter. He breathed slowly, though it still felt hard to breathe, like he just couldn’t get enough air into his lungs. Then again, why should he care? His lungs wouldn’t be able to inflate within the next few seconds.

In a sloppy movement, he pulled the trigger.

He managed to fall to the side just a split second before he pulled said trigger, falling to the side with a pained scream and a grunt as his side fell onto the tiled floor again. Now, he was laying on the floor, blood escaping his body at a rapid pace as he gasped, shock finding him. Would the sudden shock offer him a heart attack? Wouldn’t that be blissful. Maybe he’ll bleed out? Oh! That would be positively _breath-taking!_

A bang on the door to catch his attention. He lifted his chin, though his head still remained on the ground. He could see the shadow of feet at the door. No one was home, or so he thought. Then again, they could have only come home. Or is that possibly a neighbor? No... surely they wouldn’t just break in.

He could hear a voice, though it sounded too muffled and otherwise faded out to be able to be coherent to him. He couldn’t hope to pinpoint the exact voice of whoever was talking. Or, rather, _yelling_...

He doesn’t know where he hit exactly, just that his chest hurts. But he knows his heart’s still beating — _regrettably so_ — and he can’t help but wonder if it’ll still hurt when he’s dead. Furthermore, can you even hurt when you’re dead?

“Tobio!” It’s getting dark.

 _That_ was coherent...

“Please say something!” Darker.

He knows that voice...

“Tobio!” Banging on the door continues.

It’s like the memorizing of your own face; your own body. It’s second nature to him.

“Please fucking say something!” Are his eye closed?

His... second half...

“Some _noise!_ I don’t care!” Jiggling the knob won’t work. Sorry...

A certain orange-haired boy...

“Please be okay...” Sobbing on the other side of that off-white door.

The only one who could ever make him happy...

“Tobio...”

_Wait—_

_I don’t want to be dead._

A hand stretches out in an attempt to reach the door.

_I don’t want to be alone._

His body’s gone numb.

_Death is lonely..._

Is he reaching for the door still?

_Lonely?_

He can’t hear anything.

_Why is that so familiar?_

He wonders if he’s dead already.

_I know I’ve been lonely for so long._

He’s torn between being happy—accomplished for finally dying.

_But he...—_

Or upset that he won’t be able to see his sun anymore.

_It’s... it’s getting lighter. Light..._

_Is that the sun?_ He can’t tell.

_Maybe I’m not dead, afterall?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This could've turned out better but I got too excited to post this, to be honest.


	2. 11 weeks prior

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to be switching between past and present often. You'll recognize the time in the chapter very easily, don't worry.

It’s hard to believe that this is his life, he thinks.——

How he gets up every day, and the only thing he looks forward to is going back to sleep. How he can’t brush his teeth at the bathroom sink because if he even gets so much as a _glance_ at himself through that mirror, he’ll go into a fit and become angry and frustrated—at both himself and those who made him this way—because _god_ the level of self-loathing and contempt he has for himself has reached its highest peak and he’s not sure how much farther he can continue hating himself and those who have wronged him. Who called him names; who taunted him; who beat the absolute shit out of him; who betrayed him, his trust; who sexually assaulted and abused him...

When he looks in that mirror, he doesn’t see the people who have wronged him, he sees himself—the outcome of their actions upon him; the aftermath... and that is an abhorrent sight to him.

But... he still can’t help but welcome the self-hatred he feels for himself. Because, oddly enough, he finds solace in being able to feel that much. Take that away, and there’s nothing. Just a world of monochrome and colorless skies.

It’s only in those moments when he gets struck down by a name or sentence filled with contempt — “You’re worthless!”, “Why don’t you go kill yourself already?”, “You eat too much, fatass.”;—or in those moments where he’s on the ground, pain stabbing his entire body and lacing every inch of his skin, swift kicks in the sides that force him to gag, glorious pummels to the face that force him to cough up and spit out blood; or in those moments where he feels his heart absolutely shatter when _yet another_ person leaves him; or in those moments where he’s being taken advantage of in a bathroom or alley...

It’s only in those moments that he feels the most. That he finds color—even if it’s black, and blue, and purple, and red, and white. It’s that color he’s somehow, quite strangely, fallen in love with. Because that’s the closest thing he can get to feeling something other than self-hatred and self-pity.

It’s only in those moments where he can feel contempt for someone else who isn’t himself; only in those moments where he can feel the delicious sense of pain streaming throughout his entire body; only in those moments where he can see a split second mirage of flashbacks to the relationship as it was before, and, for that split second, feel a sense of momentary happiness; only in those moments where he can take pride in knowing that at least _someone_ finds him appealing enough to do those things, to where he can just _maybe_ feel some kind of love (He doesn’t; never has, and subconsciously, he doubts he ever will).

It’s a difficult thing to explain. To others—it can make no fucking sense—but to him, it’s as simple of a concept as adding or subtracting.

But like hell would he ever tell someone about these feelings, about those who hurt him day after day, about his own actions performed upon himself in a _desperate_ attempt to hate himself, if but only, just a little bit less.

——It’s hard to believe that he’s gone on this long without ending his own life.

He wonders if he can remember when—

“Kageyama!”

 _Oh. That’s my name, isn’t it?_ He comments to himself, blinking a few times to pull himself out of his trance-like state as he slowly looked up to see who had called him. Sure enough, he saw Sugawara waving him over. _And I have to get up, don’t I?_ He didn’t want to get up. The floor had just started becoming comfy.

Well, regardless of how he feels, he still has to obey orders issued to him. Actually, not really. It’s just an ordinary thing to do. The only difference here is that his mindset has become to distorted to view basically everyone above him—like a master—while he is their inferiority—like a puppet, or a slave, or — as some people tend to note — “their bitch.” Funny how that works; how some people think they literally _own_ him.

The male sighed, pulling his legs out of their criss-crossed position, a palm pressing into the gymnasium floor and pushing against it as he stood up with a soft grunt. He paused momentarily, looking down at the floor, vision becoming hazy for several moments. He swallowed back as he stumbled back a little bit before shaking his head, bringing a hand up to his temple, letting his fingers rub it a few times as he started walking towards the silver-haired male.

He stopped with a huff, issuing the younger male a certain _look._ One that’s hard to explain, so it may be simple to say it’s close to one that looks vexed and likely disappointed, also.

“You’re zoning out again,” he started, looking around at the gym rather than making eye contact with the raven-haired boy. He hated that—when people can’t make eye contact with him. Well no, actually. Most the time, he’s thankful people don’t make eye contact with him. Not god on the anxiety levels, see. But, sometimes, with those people who he has some sense of faith in (and hopes they have some level of faith in him), he wishes they would always make eye contact with him. Because, when they don’t, he can only feel like they’re disappointed in him, like he isn’t worthy of their gaze, among other things that are in alone and in-between those lines.

“S-sorry.” He also hated that—how he can only seem to apologize for absolutely everything he does. If someone comments on it, he feels an obligation to apologize. But, even still, he somehow finds that everything he does is wrongs and feels like he has to apologize for everything, to everyone. It frustrates people, and they always tell him to stop apologizing for everything. It doesn’t do anything but force him to issue them another apology—an apology for apologizing.

Makes a hell-of-a-lot of sense, right?

“One of these days,” he hummed, “you’re going to get hit in the face with a volleyball.” A little quieter, and leaning in a little closer—to which, instinctively, he leaned backwards and away from Sugawara. He heard him mumble something about his actions being “weird” but both of them quickly dismissed that. “We don’t want to see you pulling a Hinata, do we?”

By “Pulling a Hinata,” he means getting hit with the volleyball because, let’s all face it, the kid gets hit with a ball at least once every practice nowadays, everyone’s noted. It’s also very fun and fun _ny_ to see. Now, Kageyama doesn’t laugh, but he does smirk a little bit. Just a little, teeny-tiny bit. It’s the most he can muster, really.

“And, one of these days, Hinata’s going to hear all of you making those comments.” He chuckled half-heartedly, “That’ll be fun to watch.” To him, yes, because he never made any comments like that about Hinata, or any of the other members on the team or, well, _anyone_ really. It was also mild sarcasm.

“He knows we mean it with the upmost love!”

Honestly, he never expected Sugawara to be behaving like this. He thought, for the longest time, that the co-captain was filled with love and couldn’t hurt a fly; that he was motherly—and Kageyama saw that he was like a mother-figure. Certainly far more of a “mother” than his biological, blood-related once. And the silver-haired male definitely treated him better than her, too.

Of course, he would never mention any of this to anyone. For one, it’s embarrassing on his part. And, second, Sugawara would most likely take offense at his viewing of him as a “mother.”

“Did you need me for something?” Kageyama asked finally.

“Huh?” The other male looked confused for a few moments before his face lit up and he nodded, “Oh! Right! Uh, yeah.” He looked over to the few stationed on the court, “We were going to play a few practice matches and...”

His voice faded as Kageyama’s thoughts prioritized themselves.

It’s the same thing every single day. How has he not gone completely crazy doing these tedious things? The level of that was surely increasing as the days passed: wake up, muster all the energy he has in that while to get out of bed, shower—spend the majority of the time contemplating and debating the pros and cons of self-harm (to which the side of self-harm almost always wins),—get dressed, brush teeth, waste time in his room so when he goes downstairs, he can skip out on eating breakfast without any comments or issues from either of his parents—he’s usually left to just grab a snack and rush out the door without any question, just a comment from him saying he’ll eat on the way. In reality, he never does. He shoves the snack in his bag, or tosses it into a ditch somewhere far-ish from his house.

Attend school; worry about possible encounters with bullies; worry about getting good grades; worry about getting work completed on time; worry about someone seeing his fresh wounds (burning or cutting), or his old wounds (healed over, but still visible); worry about volleyball (how much longer can he continue starving himself before it starts to really affect his performance all-around?); worry about what may or may not happen after school; worry about all the in-betweens; worry about worrying too much.

Anxiety packed on top of anxiety.

After school may very well be far worse than during, because then he has to worry about being dragged into some alleyway and being beat up on, or worse. Yes, he definitely worries about the “or worse” part more than anything else during the day—gaining weight is a close second, followed by being caught self-harming.

And self-harming isn’t limited to just cutting. He’s also induced in burning, starving, forcing himself to vomit, beating himself up—punching himself or walls or whatever else he can find that will do a “decent” amount of damage to his knuckles and/or body,—doing “dangerous” things such as crossing a street without looking, or walking on rooftops and edges of buildings.

He’s going to die anyway, why not die living with a little enjoyment he gains from cutting and burning himself (a strange concept—pleasure from pain—I know)? Why not die thin (he already is, he just doesn’t realize just how thin he’s getting)? Why not test his limits? Why not challenge death? Why not live life with a death wish?

“We’ve been calling you for awhile,” Sugawara said with a sigh. “Wanted you to get some practice in since you’ve been sitting out most of today... and yesterday... the day before...”

He has been sitting out more frequently, hasn’t he? He’s also been overwhelmingly sore in more places than one—his body possessing an ache, pain lacing his skin all around. Not to mention he hasn’t eaten in four days, so he’s weaker and gets fatigued more easily. And that’s on top of being inexplicably exhausted all the time, regardless of how much sleep he gets. Of which, he’s still usually awake most nights. Alone with his thoughts? That never ends well.

“S-sorry.” He said, averting his gaze. “I just... don’t really feel well...”

“Oh.” The other male laughed softly, “Why didn’t you say so? You can go home if you want, you know.”

_I’m much safer here._

He nodded. “Alright.” And dipped his head a bit. “Th-thank you.”

_Come on! Can't you see it? Can’t any of you see it?!_

He turned around, making haste for the gymnasium entrance, sliding the door open and stepping out, pulling it shut with much more force than intended (he was angry, but didn’t think he was quite so visibly showing it yet), causing it to make a loud sound as it slammed closed. He winced at the sound, and he headed for the club room to change and collect his things.

He opened the door and stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and making sure to lock it before going to where his things were placed and pulling out his regular school attire. He reached to his back, grabbing the cloth and pulling it off over his head, wincing at the pain that movement evoked. He slipped his shoes off and pulled his shorts down, shoving both of the clothing pieces into his bag and grabbing his white button-up shirt. It was only then that he noticed the fresh blood stains. Another bleaching treatment—or two; probably three—and it would be fine.

He slipped both arms into the sleeves before buttoning the shirt up, making note that his fresher wounds had ripped open (again) and were starting to drip his chest and stomach. That’s what happens when you cut deep enough. Damn things refuse to stay closed, and they always bleed like there’s no tomorrow. He rolled his eyes, grabbing his pants and slipping them on, knowing he’d have a hell of a time doing laundry when he got home. Always fun. And he’s always sarcastic.

The doorknob jiggled and Kageyama couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that he locked it beforehand.

“Kageyama?” A voice called, muffled a bit through the door.

He grabbed his jacket and slipped his arms through those sleeves, zipping it up. He finally walked over to the door, unlocking it and opening it, coming face-to-face ( _ahem_ face-to-air) with Hinata.

“Oh. Hey!”

The raven-haired male looked down at the kid, tilting his head in a condescending kind of way. He turned around, going to sit down on the ground, stifling a groan of pain, and going to slip into his other pair of shoes. Once he was done with that notion, he looked back at the phoenix-haired male.

“Why didn’t you answer?”

No comment.

He shrugged and stood back up, placing his gym shoes at the bottom of the bag, moving his clothing around inside before zipping it up and swinging it over his shoulder.

“Are you okay?”

He hates that line. And it usually lands him nowhere but trying to choke back tears he holds in all day, or all week. Depends on how long he can bottle things up with whatever he gets dished out each day.

“I’m fine.”

He also hates that line. Because it’s always a lie, and he _hated_ lying to his teammates, especially the little phoenix.

“You don’t seem all that fine...”

Kageyama gritted his teeth, shooting a glare at the smaller male, hoping it would shut him up.

“Oh, quit getting mad at me for being worried!”

“Don’t you know when to shut the hell up?” He said, voice cracking near the end.

_Time to go._

The raven-haired male turned away from Hinata, walking out the club room.

“Kageyama, wait!”

He felt a hand grab his arm and, instinctively, he whipped around, pulling his arm away in the process and sending the kid almost flying off the railings. Probably would have, if Kageyama hadn’t realized what the hell was happening and grabbed on to Hinata’s arm just before he fell down, pulling him in, a nice hit to his chest to remind him of his poor decisions.

He could feel the smaller male’s heartbeat for a couple seconds before he let go of the kid and pushed him off of him gently, adding a couple feet of distance. “See, dumbass? You almost got yourself killed!” He growled, narrowing his eyes.

Yeah. The kid knew that. Or maybe it was, at least, he would just get severely injured from the fall. Whichever way, the kid was scared and it was obvious with the speed of his heart he had felt, and the clear panic in his eyes.

“S-s-sorry...”

_Shit..._

Kageyama sighed, taking a step forward, a hand coming up onto the smaller boy’s shoulder. “No, it’s fine. _I’m_ the one who should be sorry. I almost threw you over. I—” When the phoenix-haired boy looked up at him and he saw the fear and panic, he couldn’t help himself but to pull the boy in, wrapping his arms around him. “Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay.”

He sighed, chin coming up on top of the boy’s head, closing his eyes.

It felt as though he was twirling, spinning, spiraling: erratic arc after erratic arc—images of a fast-moving roller coaster passing him by. Before it could climax into its inevitable end, he opened his eyes.

_Wouldn’t it be nice if I could bring myself to attempt suicide?_

But, instead of there being a small, phoenix-haired boy, there was nothing; just his arms grabbing nothing, stretched out a bit as if he was hugging someone, something.

Nothing.

He clenched his fists, pulling his arms in closer to his body before wrapping them around himself, one grabbing at the cloth of his jacket, the other coming up to his collarbone. _Did I... just hallucinate that? Should I be glad that I didn’t actually almost send him over the edge, or worried that I just. Fucking. Hallucinated an entire scene?_

It took awhile before he got home (because he took a different-different route this time to avoid anyone and everyone who may be looking for him, since they all seem to know when he’s walking home somehow...), but when he did, it was laundry first, wrapping his wounds second, getting dressed into pyjamas, and then him plopping down onto his bed. He had originally intended to just lay for a short while and relax, but when he opened his eyes again and checked the time, the clock read _9:36_

_Did I seriously sleep for five hours?!_

“Shit!” He whispered, getting up quickly and going around to grab his bag, pulling out his school work.

He didn’t get much done before his phone vibrated. The male sighed, reaching for the device and flipping it open, seeing that there was a new message from Hinata. Another sigh, and he opened up the message.

Hinata: ‹ _are you okay?_ ›

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My writing just went to... where the actual hell at about “... Alone with his thoughts? That never ends well....” And I apologize.


	3. Alone?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His eyes were shut for awhile and, when he opened them, he saw the face of one of his attackers, arms stretched out, hands around his throat. He furrowed his brows, hands coming up to his own neck, trying to pry the man’s hands off of him.
> 
> No use.
> 
> The struggling continued for a good minute before he gave up, arms falling onto the bed and body giving out on him. He became unable to support himself and soon thereafter, he collapsed and everything played in slow motion: him falling to the side, a blur of color that was once the figure of the man who attacked him there, and who had a habit of finding him daily to have “fun,” and he went in to focus on something— _anything_ —else which just happened to be the walls of his bedroom, though those still came in blurs. His body hit the mattress and then—
> 
> —Nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is totally not my version of a filler chapter because I had legitimately no idea how to go along with this to get to a certain point. Still don't. But, eh, I got time to figure it out.

It's a peculiar thing—the little rituals we perform during the day; from the moment the clock ticks to the harrowing hour, signaling a new day, until that moment just before. From waking up, to basic hygiene, to eating (or—ha— _not_ ), to going to school or to work, to coming home, to other endeavors you choose to participate in: watching tv, reading, whatever piques your tastes and interests.

It's peculiar how none of that matters, when you get right down to it.

How you yourself are nothing. How you know your existence is unimportant. How you are just—

—“Tobio?” A voice—his mother's—calling out to him through the large wooden plank. A knock on his bedroom door. A quick movement to open a textbook and pull out some notes pretend to have been studying.

But, you know, it's not like I'm important either. Apparent-fucking-ly.

“Come in.” He called back, going about tapping his pencil on his desk.

Not like I was trying to narrate or anything. Give some detail on the story.

“Oh, good! You're studying, are you?” She hummed in approval.

Yep. Fine, fine... Have it your way...

... Bitch...

“Well, whenever you're ready, dinner's ready. Your father and I can wait for you.”

_‘Hell. No.’_

The boy will be damned if he has to break his fast because of his parents.

“Uh. No, no. That's-that's quite alright... You two go ahead without me I'm going to be awhile.”

He took note of how the pencil he was holding was shaking in his grasp, setting the pencil down quickly and balling his hand into a fist.

The shaking was more than likely caused by his lack of nutrition. Three days—going on to four—of eating nothing and just drinking water tends to do that to him. That, and also make him weaker in the limbs. In other words, he had a weakened sense of balance and was susceptible to falling, he was shaky constantly, and he was tired all day. Just to name a few things.

“Can't you just take a break to have dinner?”

He gritted his teeth, pausing for awhile before relaxing his face and turning his body to face her, his right arm resting on top of the back rest of the chair while the antithetical arm was still atop his desk. “I'd rather not. I'll lose my focus and it'll be difficult to regain.” He laughed softly, innocently, “Really, mom, no need to worry. I'll eat in a few hours when I'm done here.” And cue the equally-innocent smile... Now.

His mother nodded with a smile. “Alright, Tobio. Just don't work yourself too hard.”

Then, his mother left, shutting the door as she did so. And he was alone once more. Alone in that seemingly too-small, 10-by-8 room. Alone with his thoughts. Alone. If the light was off, it would be like his mind. Pitch black haze clouding over muddled thoughts. If the light was off, his demons would run more rampant. Perhaps that was due to his eyes not being able to function to their upmost ability that can only be achieved in the light. In the dark, he only has his sense of smell, hearing, and feeling; he only has the scent of a room he's grown accustomed to, so he doesn't notice it; only has his own internal thoughts to hear because everything else is drained out by the demons screeching in his ears; only has the ability to _feel._

And either he feels nothing at all, or he feels everything at once.

Tonight was one of those nights where he feels _everything._ Every emotion he's bottled up for the past two weeks were finally spilling over. And, once his parents went off to bed, he planned to let everything out. On the brightside, the following day was Friday, the last day of the week before the weekend. He planned to sleep his days away.

... He never did get back to responding to that little orange floof. He had just read the message and left it at that. The small child would just have to let curiosity eat away at him. Well, that was unless—

—The boy swiveled around in his chair, standing up and walking over to his bed, sitting down on one leg with a slight grunt as his weight shifted into his bottom. He reached for his cellphone on the head of the bed, flipping it open. I suppose he did decide, as if on perfect cue, to get back to Hinata.

Kageyama: _‹ Yeah. Why? ›_

He may seem calm in text, but, really, his mind was everywhere. He couldn't _possibly_ have seen any wounds on him—bruises, or cuts, or burns—or noticed anything truly—how he never eats around the team (or hardly at all, anyway), how he never changes in front of the team either, how he is anxious most of the day and it's constantly moving and fidgeting about, how he...—

—You get it, don't you?

Almost instantaneously, the floof replied.

Hinata: _‹ oh!_  
_i thought you were mad at me or something cause you read my last text but didn't answer..._  
_well, you could be mad but still reply, i guess._  
_are you mad?›_

Kageyama: _‹ no..._  
_should i be? ›_

Hinata: _‹ i..._  
_i don't think so??_  
_well, anyway,_  
_sugawara wanted me to ask you if you were feeling any better._  
_he would have asked himself_  
_but,_  
_you know,_  
_you're a scary guy._  
_and he thinks you and i are closer than you and anyone else on the team._  
_so here i am~! ›_

Kageyama: _‹ i'm fine, yeah._  
_... you sure can text a lot, can't you?_  
_and ›_

He stopped typing, staring at the messages. Several questions ran across his mind: _“Would it help to talk to someone?,” “Would Hinata_ maybe _listen?,” “Should I take the chance?,” “What if he tells everyone?”_

And, finally:

_“Do I care?”_

Kageyama: _‹ actually..._  
_no._  
_i'm not 「 fine 」_  
_i haven't been anywhere near 「 fine 」 in... weeks? months? ›_

Message, sent.

Waiting, begin.

An eternity later (several minutes later), he got a response. By then, he had cleaned up his desk and was laying in bed, debating on whether to shower that night, or the following morning.

A phone vibration.

His cue to reach up and backwards for the small electronic device.

He pulled it above his face, flipping it open and opening the messages.

Hinata: _‹ what do you mean?_  
_what's wrong? ›_

He was a little vague, wasn't he?

Kageyama: _‹ everything._  
_everything is wrong._  
_i'm terrified every day._  
_i guess i seem scary, but, honestly, i'm the absolute opposite internally. ›_

Hinata: _‹ what are you afraid of? ›_

Kageyama: _‹ everything._  
_no. mostly everything. ›_

Hinata: _‹ like what? ›_

_‘Why hold back? What do I have to lose?’_

Absolutely _nothing._

Kageyama: _‹ myself, for one._  
_i'm dangerous to myself, and i know that's gradually melting into being both a danger to myself and to other people._  
_i can't trust myself_  
_at. all._  
_i can't even take a bath without wondering if maybe I'll drown myself,_  
_or if i get my hands on something sharp, i wonder if i'll cut—_  
_and if i cut, will it be shallow? will it be deep? will it be TOO deep?_  
_would i care if it's too deep?_  
_could i die? ›_

Hinata: _‹ that's... scary..._  
_why do you feel like that anyway?_  
_and you…_ _you cut?_ _since when? ›_

Kageyama: _‹ you don't know much about this, do you?_  
_i'm sorry. i just haven't been able to talk to anyone._  
_i'll stop so I don't upset you further. ›_

He sat up, ready to put his phone back.

Hinata: _‹ no, no, no, no!_  
_please talk to me! it's okay!_  
_i don't know anything about this, but if you explain things to me, maybe i can help? ›_

Kageyama: _‹ i don't want to be your burden._  
_really, i'll be fine_  
_even if i never talk to anyone._  
_it's fine. ›_

He hadn't even realized his hands had begun to shake. First almost completely unnoticeable; then, they were shaking more wildly, tremoring. His hands became unable to hold the device and therefore dropping it. It fell softly onto the bed, then bouncing and slid just off the edge and hitting the floor with a quiet thud. His arms were shaking, he noted, and, within a couple more seconds, his shoulders were shaking.

He sucked in a breath before exhaling quickly. As he went for another breath, he found that he couldn’t. He just... couldn’t. He blinked a couple times, a hand coming up on his chest. His eyes were shut for awhile and, when he opened them, he saw the face of one of his attackers, arms stretched out, hands around his throat. He furrowed his brows, hands coming up to his own neck, trying to pry the man’s hands off of him.

No use.

The struggling continued for a good minute before he gave up, arms falling onto the bed and body giving out on him. He became unable to support himself and soon thereafter, he collapsed and everything played in slow motion: him falling to the side, a blur of color that was once the figure of the man who attacked him there, and who had a habit of finding him daily to have “fun,” and he went in to focus on something— _anything_ —else which just happened to be the walls of his bedroom, though those still came in blurs. His body hit the mattress and then—

—Nothing.

Pitch black nothingness.

* * *

He woke up to the glimmer of light refracting into his bedroom, coming right onto his fragile pair of eyes. Of course, he had just passed out the night before, so he hadn’t even been able to pull his curtains closed. An unfortunate thing for him, since he probably could have slept longer. The boy instinctively brought his hand up to his face, rubbing his eyes vigorously before rolling onto his side, back directing itself towards that damned window.

After awhile, he sat up in his bed, one leg bent and resting on top of the mattress, the opposing leg also bent, though held up and currently supporting one of his arms. If he could honestly figure out what the actual hell caused him to have a panic attack or... well... whatever the hell happened the night prior was—it would be a marvelous thing. But, regrettably, he has absolutely no fucking clue what caused him to spiral out of control. Ha. And to think he could maintain his composure.

He sighed, dropping his head down and closing his eyes. He was totally aware of what had happened the night prior; he just didn’t know why. He didn’t know why a lot of things happened or why a lot of things are said. And, in trying to wrap his head around his situation and of asking all those “Why’s?,” he would be sure to wind up having a mental breakdown and crying his eyes out as opposed to actually getting anything truly done.

Soon, his head was back up and he was feeling around his blankets and pillows for his phone. It took him actually standing (to much of his discomfort—go ahead and let your mind wander; there’s at least three reasons) and pulling his comforter off the mattress, hearing his phone drop with a thud in his frustration of just yanking the blanket off to find the little device.

He mumbled something under his breath before bending over and picking up the little metallic box, grabbing an edge of his blanket and pulling it up, laying it down on his bed as he climbed back into his bed, laying down on his side with a light grunt. He flipped open his phone, opening the messages with Hinata.

Hinata: _‹ wait!_  
no, no, no, no!  
please don’t go!  
let me help!  
you won’t be a burden, i promise!  
i want to help you!  
i’m willing to help you! ›

And, after about fifteen minutes had passed:

Hinata: _‹ kageyama?_  
are you okay?  
please tell me you aren’t hurting yourself... ›

And cue the guilt…

Hinata: _‹ i’m sorry_  
you don’t have to tell me anything  
it’s alright  
just know i’m here if you want to talk or something, okay? ›

Kageyama sighed, lowering his phone and raising a hand to rub his temples. He drug his hand down his face, palm against the left portion as he lifted the cellphone up once more.

Kageyama: _‹ sorry i didn’t get back to you  
something came up... ›_

He couldn’t _possibly_ hope to explain what the actual hell had happened the night before. And he was honestly to fucking exhausted to even _attempt_ to explain it in the slightest. So, instead, he opted to be as vague as possible for the precious, innocent little boy. Well, “precious, innocent little boy” in his eyes; in his mind. The kid was about 5’3”, probably hardly weighed a whole 100lbs—one could think—and had the energy of a kitten on steroids. Or, well, maybe just catnip. Yes. Much more reasonable.

He set his phone down and laid down on his side, back facing the wall behind him. He had one arm tucked under his pillow, head resting on top, the other hand held close to his chest. It was almost always when he was laying in his room that he felt the most lonely. And, when he feels lonely—when he feels absolutely _alone,_ regardless of who may or may not be around—is when his thoughts vocalize themselves, stirring; pounding; blaring.

He mumbled something under his breath before bending over and picking up the little electronic device, setting it on the head of his bed, grabbing an edge of his blanket and pulling it up, laying it down on top of the mattress. He would have to get dressed for school, wouldn't he? Yeah...

* * *

He had just barely pulled his jacket on fully when his mother called for him. Being otherwise fully-clothed, he went for the door and unlocked it before twisting the knob and pulling it open, leaning out into the hallway and looking down towards the living area, holding himself up with one hand on the archway of the door.

“Yeah?” He called back.

“Breakfast is ready, come sit and eat!”

The boy grimaced. _‘You've got to be shitting me...’_

“Uh-I'm not—” _‘Fuck. Shit. Damn.’_ “I'm not really ready yet!”

“Well hurry it up then!”

He pulled himself back into his bedroom, nearly slamming the door shut and locking it. He would just have to procrastinate until the last minute. That way, he could just pack whatever food his mother made for him, take it to school, give it to someone else, and no one would be the wiser.

He sat down at the head of his bed, legs over the edge, and grabbed his phone. And, sure enough:

Hinata: _‹ oh, it's fine! i'm just glad you're okay! ›_

Kageyama: _‹ so... you aren't upset with me?_ _for like, leaving you hanging? ›_

Hinata: _‹ no??_  
_why would i be? lol ›_

Kageyama: _‹ i'm not sure. people just have a tendency to get upset or mad at me over things like that... ›_

Hinata: _‹ hey, so..._  
_how are you feeling now? ›_

He furrowed his brows, staring at the text for awhile.

Kageyama: _‹ why are you being nice to me like that? ›_

Hinata: _‹ does someone need to have a reason to be kind to someone else?_  
_i mean... we're friends, aren't we?›_

_‘Friends? Since when?’_

To give a vague answer (and to also give an attempt to not totally being an ass to the literal ball of sunshine), he opted to end the conversation with:

Kageyama: _‹ i don't know... and i don't really know what having a friend is or whatever. never grew up with any. so, again, i don't know_  
_i have to go now... see you at school. ›_

He flipped his phone shut and stood up, shoving the device into his pocket and grabbing his bag from off the floor, pulling it over one shoulder. He walked out into the hallway and to the kitchen, where his mother was waiting.

“No time to sit and eat, so I just packed it for you to eat at school.” She said as he entered the room, handing him a plastic container. “Better get going now or you'll be late to school.”

_‘Haha! Yes!’_

The male nodded, thanking her for packing him the food before walking out and to the front door, slipping his shoes on with the help of his one free hand. He stood up straight, opening the front door and stepping outside, closing said door behind him as he headed for the street. A ten minute walk before the intersection, and he was actually kind of hoping that he would be able to meet up with Hinata there. Though he wouldn't admit to that information, of course.

* * *

So that is to say he had a hint of disappointment emitting from him when he didn't see the orange floof whatsoever on the walk to school. But, he also took it as a positive sign he didn't run into any “unsavory” individuals. So it wasn't a total loss. Plus, either way, he did have a couple classes with the smaller male. That seemed to be something he was looking forward to. Funny, one series of texts, and the next day his stance is a bit altered and he's actually eager to see Hinata.

He gripped the strap of his bag tightly, the other hand shoved into his jacket pocket, messing with the bumps on his phone as he walked down the hallway. He hadn't gone far past the front office before a voice called out to him from behind.

“Kageyama!”

He recognized that voice instantly.

_‘Shit...’_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No. I'm not trying to force my self into Kageyama's character. What? Why would I do that? Haha... Ha...
> 
> But, really, I'm going to be writing through some more attacks—anxiety/panic/ptsd—that I've had for my precious bby. And I'm most likely going to stitch my friends into a couple of these characters because bless them them for keeping me here.


	4. Waking Up

  
  


You know that feeling when you wake up in an unknown environment, with little to no recollection of what happened before to plant you there in the first place? Well, here, he opened his eyes to see bright white lights overhead. Instinctively, he shut his eyes tight. He waited a good while, breathing heavily, soft beeping filling his ears, before opening his eyes again, squinting, as he looked around the room. White; white; white. Everything was just so damn white and... _clean_ —that strong scent of alcohol and other over-sterilization. Aside from the curtain that circled around his bed — that was a light brown color — everything in sight was white or, at most, a very light grey (excluding the machines he was currently attached to).

He hadn't felt quite this feeling: of waking up in a hospital room after having failed a suicide attempt. Yes, this here—definitely a first.

He continued to breathe heavily, though slowly, and blinking infrequently and even slower than he breathed. His eyes wandered around the small space he was currently in. Although very vague, he felt a pain in his shoulder. A quick glance, pulling the hospital gown away from the area, and he saw it was bandaged and he was currently bleeding through said bandages. He missed his skull and shot his shoulder. The male released the fabric and let his arms rest at his sides again, staring blankly forward.

Great. He was such a failure, he couldn’t even kill himself properly. Even after going through such lengths to ensure he succeeded.

He sighed, finally closing his eyes and letting his body relax. The area on his shoulder also tingled and felt like it was burning with great heat. Not to the point where it would be painful, but just enough to make note of it. He wondered what time it was. The lights in his room were on, but there was also some light outside. His question would soon be answered, speaking as though he heard a door open, his eyes opening and sitting up (with a groan) immediately to see who had entered the room.

He couldn’t see them, however, because the curtain prevented that. But, soon enough, the curtain was pulled back just enough for a man dressed in scrubs to enter. He seemed surprised to see the younger male awake and staring at him. Or maybe he was glaring at him…

“Oh. You’re awake. This is good.” He said with a little smile. “How do you feel?”

“Shitty.”

“Do you feel any pain? Dizziness? Lightheadedness…?” He trailed off, offering opportunity to speak about those listed or those unlisted, turning away to get some things from the side.

“I’m fine.” He grumbled harshly.

He turned back to face the younger male, holding a sphygmomanometer (blood pressure meter). “I’m going to check your vitals here, okay?” He didn’t wait for an answer before he reached for the boy’s arm, wrapping the cuff around his upper arm. He flinched at the touch. Don’t people know not to just touch someone without true warning? Especially here, he thinks, in a hospital where they get cases like this; or maybe just any case in general.

He took the cuff off and turned his body halfway, exchanging the sphygmomanometer for a thermometer before turning back to face the younger male. “Place this under your tongue,” he said, handing the plastic thing to him. He did as he was told. A light beep a few second later, and the man reached for the plastic, pulling it out of the kid’s mouth. He looked to the number and nodded, writing down — he assumed — the numbers. “Fever’s pretty high…” He murmured, glancing at the boy. “And blood sugar’s low…” he said with a sigh. “Even with those tubes… I guess I can't be surprised, can I?” He said with a breathy chuckle. It was obvious he was disheartened at that.

He rolled his shoulders back and stood up a little straighter. “I'll tell the doctor you're awake now, and he'll be in shortly, okay?” The boy only nodded, watching as the man left his room. If anyone’s to be honest here, the kid was already looking for a way out, or a way to finish himself off. Windows, possibly locked, but worth a shot; door, more risky, but would definitely lead outside one way or another; as for the latter… He looked down at his body, seeing an IV needle set up in his hand. He reached for it, pulling away the tape around it before grabbing the plastic piece, he was about to rip it out, but the sudden opening of the door alerted him and her jerked his head in that direction. Another nurse.

“Goodness! What are you doing?!”

He looked back at the needle then back to the nurse. “It was hurting…” he lied, “I wanted it to stop so…”

She stared at him awhile before sighing and shaking her head. “I'll tell the doctor you're in pain, but I'm sorry to inform you that that needle has to stay.”

“There was just a nurse in here, why are you in here?”

She bit at her lip. “Well, he was checking vitals, I'm here as part of your twenty-four-seven monitoring. You did just attempt a suicide, so you're on suicide watch now that you're awake. There will be four nurses, each here for six hours, each day until you're moved to the behavioral hospital.”

“How long will that be?”

“Until you're healed up enough for discharge.”

_Of course…_

“What's a rough estimate?”

“A couple weeks at least. The time in the behavioral hospital varies though, but it's usually about a week, but some have been in there for a month or even longer in rarer cases.”

“Why are there so many tubes and shit on me?”

“Oh! One here,” she gestured to his left index finger, “checks your pulse,” she pointed to the IV in his hand, “this sends fluids through your body to help clean out your system—”

“Is it supposed to feel cold?”

“Oh, yes, that's normal. Are you too cold? I can get you a blanket...—”

“No, I'm fine.”

She nodded with a smile. “Okay.” She tapped a hanging tube that went through his nose. “This is a feeding tube, to get nutrients back into your body.”

_‘That's what the other nurse meant…’_

“When can I get it out?” He asked quickly.

“It depends on what the doctor says,” she replied.

“What happened before I came here? Like, I remembered laying down in the bathroom, but that's about it…”

“Now I don't know that… But your mom might.”

 _‘Mom…’_ He looked down. _‘I'm sorry…’_ He bit down on the inside of his bottom lip and sighed, bringing his two palms to his face to bury his face inside them. “I'm so sorry…” He whispered aloud.

“Tobio? Are you okay?”

“Where is she? Is she still here?” He asked, lifting his head and looking through between his fingers.

“I can find out, if you want.”

He nodded, burying his face away again. How weak he was, crying over something like this…

The nurse stood up and walked out the door, calling out to — what he assumed — another nurse. And so his opportunity arose...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I had to post on 4/20


	5. Forewarned; Forearmed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So we'll see you at practice, then?” he asked with a smile.
> 
> A long pause, and the smile slowly faded.
> 
> “No, actually. Not for awhile.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING  
> \- rape

Sugawara; and he already knew where this was going to go: practice. It would have had to come up eventually, may as well just get over with now.

He stood up straight, carefully holding his bag strap as to not reopen wounds, turning his body in the direction of the voice. The older boy was jogging, waving his arm, showing him the exact location of the voice; as soon as the two made eye contact, he dropped his arm to his side. A few moments later, and the two were face-to-face… with about three feet in between them. There had been less just a second prior, but the younger of the two took a step back. He couldn't trust anybody 100%; maybe not even 10%.

“You feeling better today?”

“Uh… yeah?”

“So we'll see you at practice, then?” he asked with a smile.

A long pause, and the smile slowly faded.

“No, actually. Not for awhile.”

“Are you quitting?!”

“N-no, no, no.” he shook his free hand. “I'll just… I won't be coming to practice for some time. Some things came up…”

“Like what?”

‘Think fast?’ More like ‘Lie fast.’

“I can't say.” he said, looking down.

Not completely a lie.

“Why not?”

“Family business.”

A brief pause followed by a sigh. “Okay… Will you at least stop by to tell the others?”

_I’d prefer not to have to be interrogated._

“Sure,” he replied with a shrug, looking up with tired eyes.

“Alright then,” he said lowly, “I'll, uh, see you around, I guess?”

Kageyama just nodded before turning and making his way for the school building. He could feel that day was going to be worse than the day before…

* * *

True to his word, he went to the gymnasium and told the rest of the team his lie as he had with Sugawara then left without answering any questions. It was curt, but a majority of him didn't care.

The walk home was more tedious than usual, and the boy guessed it was because of his weakened body and lightheadedness and minor dizziness. He thought, as he walked, that he should have gotten a ride from somebody. He had one hand on his bag strap, and the other in his jacket pocket, fiddling a pair of scissors. Why he hadn't thought of that before was questionable. Maybe he really was an idiot, just like so many had said before.

Suddenly, he felt a hand grab his upper arm. It wasn't the squeezing force he felt the most, it was the painful stabs of pain that erupted from his wounds there. He turned his body to see a man, an all-too-familiar face as he was pulled in one direction, stumbling and tripping over himself. He already knew where this was headed. (Ha… seems like he knows a lot about things that will happen before they happen; that's how often things like this occurred, and it's quite saddening.) He used his free hand to reach for the scissors, pulling them out, and opening them to their max, hand gripping one side, holding it open. He used all his strength to swing his body around, cutting the guy on his bicep. He didn't let go, unfortunately; and he also wasn't afraid of being cut either, gripping the scissors like Kageyama had and twisting them and the boy’s hand in the process. Just before his hand could snap, he let go.

The man still held the scissors and the younger male’s arm though now in one hand as he got cuffs and cuffed his hands behind his back, wrapping an arm around his waist to hide his hands, pulling him away and towards a car. He swung the passenger side door open and pushed the boy towards it. He didn't get in, just looked to see a fiery bundle of hair duck into an alleyway. The man shoved him into the seat, opened the glove compartment and pulled out a gun, putting it in his jacket pocket. He looked to the boy. “You keep quiet, got it?” He took his hand off of his mouth. “And don't you try to get out.” He said with a smirk before shutting the car door and going to walk around to the drivers side.

_Why don't I just let him kill me...?_

Kageyama looked over his shoulder.

_He's over there…_

He looked straight ahead.

_Why isn't he trying to help me?_

The man got into the car and shoved the key into the ignition, turned the engine over and started up the car.

_Was that another hallucination?_

He looked at the door, debating jumping out.

_Has noone seen this?_

And so proceeded the drive. The boy looked over his shoulder again, seeing the fiery bundle again, phone to his ear.

_Police?_

He looked at the man, trying to pretend that's what he was looking at the whole time and not give the other boy away. Just in time too, since the man had looked at him

_How will they find me?_

“What?” He looked back to the road.

Long pause.

“What the hell is it?”

“I just… I just never got your name.”

He chuckled. “Like I'm going to give you my full name.”

“Or... just your forename, or your surname… y’know… something to call you by.”

“Why the fuck does it matter?”

“I guess it doesn't.” Another pause, though this time it was brief. “So you're kidnapping me?”

“For a few hours, then I'll dump you off somewhere and you won't speak a word.”

He smirked, looking at the man through the corner of his eye, head directed to the windshield. The guy had no idea that Hinata had called somebody, most likely the police, and he would be taken out. And… he really didn't say anything.

“You've never done this before. Always just an alleyway or car in a dark corner. Why now?”

“It's a surprise.”

That left an awful taste in his mouth. A surprise, yes, but definitely not one he would enjoy…

He looked out the window, seeing a woman walking towards them. He turned his body and fiddled around with the lock before unlocking the door and clicking the handle open… But the door didn't follow-through. And the woman had passed.

“You can only open it from the outside.” He said with a laugh.

_That's why you felt so secure about me sitting here…_

“But, you will be punished for that.”

Oh, _goody!_

_Why the fuck have I not contacted the police my own damn self, before this?_

Right. The threats. His mother and father would be killed off. Which is why the orange fluff should stay away from him. If anyone like this guy saw them together, they'll use it against him, and he knew this.

_I guess I'll have to cut him out of my life… And everyone else…_

 

They arrived at the location. A house, with an acre or two of land between the next house.

_His house?_

The man turned the car off and got out, shutting the door and walking around the front, opening the passenger side door. “You can get out yourself or I can drag you out.”

_I might be able to run that…_

He swallowed back, nodding a bit and turning his body a bit, letting one foot out at a time, ducking under the roof of the car and standing straight again. The man went to shut the door and the boy took off. Or… _tried_ to.

Yeah, he was pretty stupid trying to run off when he's so close to this guy.

The man's fingers pressed green bruises into his arm, jolting the boy to a stop and eliciting a quick grunt from the younger boy. The man forced him in one direction, arm going around his waist again, walking up to the house. The man knocked on the front door and it opened soon after.

A figure.

_So it isn't his house then…_

This time he gently pushed him forward, allowing the male to walk inside, his body shaking, heart pounding. He stepped to the side, watching the unknown male.

“Drink? Smoke?”

My kidnapper spoke up, “Both.”

The other male nodded his head toward Kageyama, closing the door and locking it. “What about you?”

“Me?” he croaked.

The male laughed. “Yeah. I've got al—for fuck’s sake, take those cuffs off of him. I looked to the other man, seeing him look displeased before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a key, unlocking one of the cuffs from the boy’s wrist.

“C’mon” he said, holding my arm and guiding me down the hall to a bedroom. “Sit.” He followed as instructed.

 _Like the little bitch I am…_ he thought with a heavy breath.

The man grabbed the free cuff and hooked it around the bed frame. Kageyama looked to the other male. They just stared at each other for awhile. “So… Drink or smoke? Both?”

“Get me the strongest shit you have.”

He didn't want to be mentally there for what was coming for him.

The male laughed, “Okay, kid.” He said walking away, the man following behind him.

Kageyama waited about ten minutes before the two came back. The ‘host’ handed him a bottle and the boy lifted the rim to his lips, taking a couple big gulps before it registered how shitty the drink tasted. He swallowed, lowering his arm quickly and coughing.

“Damn.” Host said. “You smoke before?”

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah. I'm not ten.” Then looked, seeing the male holding a small shiny piece of… glass? “What's that?”

“Weed.”

“The glass thing.”

“A bowl?” Host said with a shrug. A couple moments later. “Ohh! You thought I meant smoking cigarettes. Sorry. You want that instead?”

He hesitated.

“Fuck it.”

Like I said, he didn't want to be mentally there for what was coming.

He reached for the bowl and lighter, lifting the piece to his mouth.

“Put your thumb there.” Host said, pointing to a hole on the side. 

The Host flicked the lighter and held it to the rim, and Kageyama inhaled, the ‘weed’ burning orange. He felt it in his throat. Far stronger than a cigarette. He'd probably be coughing up a lung if he wasn't used to smoke.

“Take your thumb away,” he did so.

The male extended his arm out before starting to cough.

“Give me… another… thir-ty minutes…” He said in between coughs.

Host laughed. “Okay.”

* * *

He was fully uncuffed now, and also fully unclothed. Host was definitely more considerate but he was also a piece of shit; just like the other man.

Host started with spreading him apart, commenting on how ‘great’ his ass felt. He had lubed his fingers up and had two pressed inside the younger male. He pushed and pulled his fingers in and out. Kageyama hated it, but his body didn't respond like his mind did. “Don't…” he whispered. He continued to jolt and buck his hips as Host went on.

Kageyama’s hips were grabbed by his hands and his hips were lifted off the bed. His heart was going to give out, he was sure. Host set Kageyama down on his thighs as he sat on the balls of his feet, his hands wrapping around his own dick as he spread lube on it. The young boy felt the tip press against him before it went in. With the man, it was excruciatingly painful, but with Host, it still hurt and was uncomfortable, just not as much. “Damn… You're so tight around my cock… it feels really fucking good.” he murmured and started thrusting in and out, hands still on Kageyama’s hips.

That went on for awhile before the male pulled out. “Get on your hands and knees… Yeah, that's good.” Host pushed back into the male, hands on his waist but higher, his thumbs pressed into the dimples of the boys back, pushing him. “Arch your back–Mmm… Perfect…”

As he thrusted in and out, the man sat in front of Kageyama, lifting his head. “C’mere,” he lifted his shoulders a bit and sat down where Kageyama’s head had just been. The man brushed through the boy's hair. “Go ahead.”

With great reluctance, the male opened his mouth and took the man’s dick into his mouth, sucking lightly and bobbing his head up and down. Suddenly, Host thrusted in with much more force and speed. It hurt like hell. Kageyama shot up, “Gh-Gh-Ghah! Hah!” Host took his cry of pain as a cry of pleasure and continued.

The man pulled his hair, forcing him down. “Keep going.”

“Oh, be nice on the boy! He won't wanna come again if you treat him like shit.”

 _Where’s Hinata? Or the cops? Or just_ somebody _?!_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Funny story: I thought I was caught up on writing these chapters, right? Right. I am currently working on chapter 10, but only just now realized I haven't even posted chapter 6. Anyway, expect the next few chapters to come out daily XP

After that, it was just a blackout for him, right up until he woke up, groggy and still a little drunk and very much still high, lying down in the backseat of a moving car. And, of course, the driver was his kidnapper.

He did nothing but breathe slowly for awhile, lying motionless as if he was still asleep, though his eyes were just looking around the interior of the vehicle and at the windows as dark figures continued to pass. His eyes were heavy, so after only a few minutes, he had closed his eyes again.

The next time he opened them, the car was stopped, and he could see red and blue lights flashing behind from inside the car. Very easily noticeable, one, since no other lights aside from the car's headlights could be seen, and two, because the lights were going against black interior. Soon enough, the man was rolling down the window as an officer walked aside the car and to said window. She stood about a foot away, looking at the man, holding a flashlight to him, then looking around inside and aiming the light back on Tobio before looking back to the man. “Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to place your keys on the hood of your car and please step out of the vehicle.”

“Can I ask what for?”

The woman ignored the question. “Keys on the hood of the car, sir,” she repeated.

Hesitantly, the male pulled the keys out of the ignition and reached out the window, placing them on the hood of the car, close to the windshield.

“Step out of the vehicle, please. I will not ask again.”

By now, Tobio had gotten up and was trying to open the car door. Failing to do so, since the damned child-lock was on.

“Who's that?”

He opened the door and stepped out. “I don't really know. I picked him up off the side of the road and was taking him home… He seems to be intoxicated.”

This was his chance.

“Let me the fuck out!”

The woman looked to the man with narrowed eyes and furrowed brows. She knew the situation, completely. The boy guessed she was testing him to see if he'd lie—most would think the chance of someone like him lying is quite high.

Tobio hesitated, then went ahead and climbed up to the driver’s seat before tumbling out of the car.

The man stumbled forward as the boy barreled into him, the woman stepped back quickly. While her eyes were focused on the boy for those few seconds, the man took off sprinting. The woman went after him immediately, while another officer came around towards Tobio. Another two police cruisers pulled up and the officer nearby him turned to face an officer as he stepped out. “Stay here with the boy, the guy took off.” And, sure enough, he was off, too.

Tobio just stayed in place, on his hands and knees, shaking, eyes widened and focused on the asphalt road. An officer came up and kneeled down beside him. “Can you tell me your name?”

“Kage–” he huffed, pulling himself back and sitting on his legs, a hand holding onto the inside of the car door. He looked at the officer, letting out a heavy, shaking breath. “Kageyama Tobio.”

“I'm very glad one of us found you, and I'm very sorry for whatever happened to you.”

_‘Please don't pity me…’_

“Do you mind if I help you get up?”

He shook his head and the officer nodded, murmuring an “Okay.” 

He maneuvered around and wrapped Tobio’s free arm around his shoulders,his other hand wrapping around the boy’s upper body. Several seconds and much stumbling on Tobio’s part, and he was standing on his feet. 

It was only when he lifted his head that he realized an ambulance had arrived on the scene. The two walked towards it as the back doors opened and a couple paramedics hopped out.

 

And... he doesn't remember anything past that until he came to again in a hospital room the following morning.

What he does know, from being told afterwards, is that he got into the back of that ambulance and was delivered to the hospital.

Even though he doesn't remember it, it would be a very long night for him.

* * *

When he sobered up, the extensive questioning began. The necessary tests and such had been done that night prior. Later that day, he was told there was a court date for him a few weeks afterwards to issue his testimony and further press charges. He would be staying in the hospital longer than the intake nurses originally thought.

The nurses had told his parents about his great many self-harm scars, and they were there to witness his low blood pressure and weighting… The boy weighed in at around 125 pounds. Everyone put two-and-two together.

A one to three day testing and healing period turned into two days of testing, seven days of him regaining weight to an ‘acceptable’ amount—first five he would have a feeding tube, as the first three he still refused to eat; though the last three he ate some and had extra help of special drinks—and then another seven in a mental health hospital.

Two days after being admitted, he was finally able to receive visitors from outside the family. When his mother brought his phone, Shouyou was the first he contacted, and he made sure that the two of them had time alone together… He asked Shouyou not to mention anything to the rest of the team—lucky for him, the boy hadn't yet said anything, to anyone, even given the time that elapsed; the incident remained known to a close circle: his kidnapper, him, his parents, Shouyou, and the local police (as far as he knew) and select staff at the hospital.

* * *

Tobio watched as his mother reluctantly left the room, stating she would be in the cafeteria downstairs before exiting the room. His father was at work, so he was excused from attendance… Though, he wouldn't be all that upset if neither of them visited him. Well, no. He would be upset, he just wouldn't show it or comment in complaint about it. 

It was a few minutes before his hospital room door opened, and the orange fluff came around the corner.

The raven-haired boy looked to the phoenix-haired boy. He had a look of guilt as he hung his head low and looked downward.

“I'm really glad you asked me to come…” His smile was close to being wholly fake—he was sincere with those words, but there was something he wasn't saying.

“What's wrong?”

His head shot up and his eyes widened, brows furrowing upward. “Am I _that_ easy to read?!”

He nodded lightly.

Shouyou sighed, dropping his head down again and returning to his previous expression.

“I just—”

“Come closer.” The raven said and, hesitantly, the phoenix took a couple steps closer. He laughed softly. “No, no. I mean, sit on the bed with me.” Slowly, the smaller boy walked over and sat on the edge of the foot of the bed. Tobio smiled, “Continue.”

Shouyou gulped. “I feel bad…”

His smile left. “Why?” He asked with a raised brow.

“I just… let him take you…” He sucked in a breath, “I didn't even try t—”

“It's okay, Hinata.”

“No it's not!”

Tobio tilted his head forward. “You're the one who called the police, right?” The phoenix nodded. “You did the best you could do, and that was more than enough.”

“But he—”

He sat up more, reaching forward to place a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “It's okay.” He said strongly. The phoenix looked towards him, teary-eyed. “Thank you.” The two made direct eye contact—a thing Tobio wasn't quite known to do; you know, anxiety and all.

The smaller boy still looked upset, guilty.

“Come here,” Tobio said, watching as he, very slowly, scooted closer. He did something else he hadn't done with anyone in years, not even his own mother. He wrapped his arms around the boy and buried the lower half of his face into his shoulder, eyes shut as he took in the boys smell. He mumbled ‘Sweet…’ but it was muffled, so it was incoherent and Shouyou hadn't heard. 

The phoenix was surprised, and just sat there, motionless, for a few seconds before he wrapped his arms around the raven’s lower-mid torso. He was surprised when his fingers touched each other and it was then he realized how underweight the other male was. He felt angry with himself for not noticing before now.

Shouyou had released his hold and was about to pull away, but when Tobio squeezed him a little tighter—a comfortable and comforting hold—he just laughed lightly and wrapped his arms around him again. The hospital room door opened and the two—both reluctant—let go of one another and turned to see who entered.

A nurse.

“Sorry to interrupt. Just doing a vitals check.” Tobio already had a blood pressure cuff around his left arm that went off every fifteen minutes, and his pulse was constantly monitored with the clasp on his finger. All she had to do was check his temperature—fifteen seconds, max—and write all the numbers down.

“Alright. That is all.”

She left.

It was a few moments before the orange fluff spoke.

“... Do you mind if I ask you a question?”


	7. Silent Promise

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Filler chapter(?)

He's conflicted.

He doesn't know whether he wants to get better or whether he wants to skip all the hassle and effort, and proceed to another attempt—they can't stop someone diving into asphalt now, can they?

On one hand, he'll be able to see Shouyou; be able to talk to him, to laugh with him, to touch him, to hold him, to love him—and receive all the same, and more, in reciprocation. 

On the other hand, he can just give up; he wouldn't have to try, to struggle, to risk failure—time and time again. It could be quick. A split second, and his existence would be terminated. He wouldn't even be able to feel guilty about the aftermath of his actions; he'd just be… _gone._

_‘Why is it I'm seeing beauty in death rather than life?’_

Maybe, he thinks, he can just go into a comatose; physically there, mentally absent. He'd be in an unconscious, dead-like state. He wouldn't have to deal with anything, all he would have to do is sleep. And maybe, he thinks, he can finally have a happy dream; maybe he can convince himself that his dreams are his reality. Yes, if he could immerse himself into that world, it would be like _‘a dream come true.’_

His eyes wandered to the window, inhaling slowly and exhaling quickly, almost like a sigh. He sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, looking down to his arms and hands, grabbing the clip on his left index finger and taking it off, followed by the cuff around his left upper arm. He grabbed the tall metal pole with the IV bag attached and stood.

_‘I'm here for a reason…’_

He began walking towards the window.

 _‘Somebody_ has _to care for me…’_

He stopped, pulling the mostly-transparent curtain to the side.

_‘Or else I wouldn't be here… Right?’_

He blinked tiredly, hand coming up to unlock the window.

_‘Right?!’_

He slid open the window, feeling the frigid air against his skin.

_‘But who?’_

He let go of the IV stand, both hands pressing down against the base of the window as he leaned forward slightly. He lowered his head, closing his eyes. Instead of orange, he saw orange. Bright, vibrant, fiery orange.

_‘Shouyou…’_

The corners of his mouth curved upwards slightly as he inhaled, imagining the boy’s scent; that perfectly sweet, intoxicating smell. He imagined a scene of the two of them, together. He couldn't determine whether he was intentionally picturing this exact scene, or if he was powerless to what he was seeing.

 

_‘Can I ask you a question?’_

“You just did.” He commented sarcastically.

The orange fluff puffed out his cheeks in a pouting way. “You know what I mean!”

Tobio half-smirked, his IV-embedded right hand rising to the other boy’s face, his fingers brushing through the bit of hair that was in his face. “You're cute when you pout.”

The boy’s cheeks went pink. “I think they're giving you too many drugs,” he scooted away and Tobio’s hand went back down. “You're definitely out of it.”

The Raven went silent.

“Fine,” he said. “Then we’ll wait until I'm out of here.”

“For what?” The smaller male’s eyes widened

“To talk about that.” Shouyou opened his mouth to speak. “So, what was your question?”

He blinked a couple times, turning his head away. He was silent for a long time. “Why don't you just kill yourself already?” He turned his head back to Tobio who, by now, had his heart rate picking up and his breathing wavering a bit. The kid… didn't have a face. In his imagination, it was like an erratic jumble of lines and swirls—like a bunch of scribbles—moving quickly, almost like a screen glitch.

He opened his eyes, clenching his teeth and narrowing his eyes. Why must he, in a dire, desperate emotional state like this, think of one of the things he hates and fears the most. Everyone could loathe him—he wouldn't care—but, the one person he couldn't stand the _idea_ of hating him… Shouyou. His opinion is what he values the most; and, well, he just has Shouyou at the top of his list. The little fluff is the most precious thing to him. It's all he needs—his security blanket; his little lifeline.

He knew that isn't how that conversation actually went. His mind just wants to fuck with him, he thought.

His body moved, as if to hop up onto the window and throw himself out, but then he pulled himself back.

_‘I won't do anything until I can see him one last time…’_

A silent promise he made. He always kept his promises, so this would help him push through… at least, just for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hate my writing so fucking much.


	8. First Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used dashes/hyphens to represent auditory hallucinations he's having. Each of the voices are "separated" by ...triple dots...

You have those dreams that are so outlandish, you know it's just a dream. Then you have those dreams that are so realistic, you swear you could hear, feel, smell, taste _everything._ It's all so surreal. When you wake up, you may even question if you're still in a dream. Or your dream could be like being in limbo, continuously waking up from a dream within a dream.

He woke up, mind all foggy, muddled and scrambled; in shambles, threatening to tear apart at the seams—all tied together by hair-thin thread, but that's talking about his inner mental state. Everything else, medication. The erratic, chaotic mess that are his ‘normal’ thoughts are being shoved to the back of his mind. But, even then, some manage to break free. His brain felt fuzzy and he generally felt light-headed.

That night prior was his first night being back in his own bed. Wait, no. Sorry. Scratch that. _In his own house._ He was sleeping on a futon in his parents room.

He blinked tiredly, holding his torso up by planting his elbows into the futon under him, arms against the fabric, too. He looked around the room from his corner, closest to his parents bed, farthest from the bedroom door. Bed was empty, but unmade—his parents would return soon. His eyes landed on his mother at his dad’s desk; she was busy writing away, setting papers to the side in particular stacks. He swallowed back, looking away. He pulled the blanket off his body and off to the side, though still mostly on the futon, before standing up. One more glance towards her before he walked out of the room.

It was his mother’s idea to have him sleep in their master bedroom, to ‘keep tabs on him.’ He didn't know how long this would last, but he could put some money on his parents wanting to have sex—they get oh-so desperate for ‘alone time’—that they give him his room back.

He walked slowly down the hallway, dragging his feet, hand on the wall—just barely, in case he starts to fall, he could at least attempt to prevent that from happening. The morning-lit hallway looked much different, coming out from the very end of the hallway. His parent’s room had windows that, in the morning, got fresh, new-day light. With their bedroom door opened, that light trickled into the hall, going about a fourth of the way down. Tobio’s room never got direct sunlight; his window looked out towards the north. It didn't he that he pinned a blanket against the window, blocking most of the light and leaving his room a cold blue-grey hue.

He stood up a little straighter as he reached the living room, hand coming up on the corner of the wall as he peered over into the kitchen. He swallowed back, stepping into the living room and turning left to get into the kitchen several feet away. He entered the room, seeing his father going about preparing breakfast. On weekends and days off from school, parents made food to share amongst themselves and Tobio could make his own food, lunch everyone made their own meal, and as for dinner one of his parents prepared a meal for everyone, or it was leftovers, or a ‘fend for yourself’ night. He would bet that, even if he made his own breakfast, one or both his parents would be around to make sure he actually ate.

“I'm sure he'll be waking up soon. Maybe in an hour or two?”

The boy folded his arms, walking a little more slowly.

“Who's that?” he asked suddenly.

His father turned quickly. “Oh! Here he is now—” he pulled the phone away from his face and to the side, “Tobio, are you up to talking to someone?” he asked in a near whisper.

“Why?”

“I'll give you the phone here in a minute.” _‘Fuck my life…’_ “It'll be great, you'll love this, I promise.” He turned away and mentioned his exchange of the phone from father to his son, just before holding out the house phone for the boy to take.

He hesitated, looking at the small plastic device for a moment. He finally took the thing and slowly put it up to his ear. He remained silent for some seconds, looking at his father before turning and walking into the living room. “... Hello?”

“Tobio?”

He didn't say anything.

“Uh, I-I wanted to go over to your house, but I didn't know if you'd really enjoy that. You just got back yesterday and all…”

He let out a pleased sigh. “Shouyou…” he whispered, almost inaudibly.

“Yeah?”

“Huh? Oh, I was just saying your name… to just…” He swallowed back and cleared his throat, standing up straight, his free hand grabbed the side of his hip. “It's nice to hear your voice…” he said.

“Oh. Yeah. It's been quite awhile, hasn't it?”

“Mm…” He walked down the hall and walked into his room, immediately turning to close his door. He turned back to look at his clean room. It wasn't how he left it. His parents must have come around and cleaned up… They may have found some of his stashes…

_‘Don't try to check. Don't try to check. Don't try to check…’ ___

Two things ‘out of place’ were on his bed. A paper with blue ink lacing the top. And a jumbled up blue, green, and purple patterned thing of fabric.

He picked it up scanned it.

“What's with the letter on my bed?”

Shouyou repeated what was on the page.

Turns out, Shouyou had been over and cleaned up his room. He said that he had slept with the blanket—the ‘jumbled up thing of fabric’—for as long as Tobio was in the hospital; he thought it may bring comfort to him, having that scent, because he's heard the Raven say he smells nice a few times, even though he acted like nothing had been said.

“Oh… Th-thank you,” he said softly.

The Raven reached down and picked up the fabric, bringing it towards his nose, inhaling deeply.

“Tobio?”

“Hmm?”

He heard a little chuckle from Shouyou. “You're smelling the blanket, aren't you?”

The Raven pulled the fabric away, balling it up and putting it up by the head of his bed with his pillows. “Yeah, I was…” he said, turning and sitting down on the edge of the bed, leaning forward, one forearm to his thigh the antithetical elbow on the opposing thigh, too. 

“You never said… If you would have enjoyed my coming over today…”

He wanted to say yes, but... he didn't.

“I don't think I'm in a good state right now—” Maybe he could leave the house if he was going to be with Shouyou; or, his parents wouldn't be watching him if the other boy came to his house, he thought. But did he feel like trying to put on a happy face the whole while he was with the boy? “I-I mean–I'd love to see you but I just…”

“It's okay. Really...”

Silence.

“... How does it feel to be back home?”

“I'm not quite sure how I feel about it yet…” He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “I'm having to sleep in my parents room so I can be monitored or whatever.”

“Think they'd let you spend the night at my house?”

He laughed. “I highly doubt it.”

“Did that—um—Did that sound weird?”

“No. It'd be nice to spend the night with you.” _‘Did_ that _sound weird?’_

Shouyou coughed a bit before laughing breathily. “Ohh... You like me a lot, huh?”

_‘What's the worst that could happen? He rejects me, thinks I'm weird, disconnects himself from me… But was he suggesting his own crush with that reaction? It doesn't matter. I can't afford to take risks like that…’_

“I… um… enjoy your company, yes. And-and I appreciate what you've done for me…”

“Oh. Yeah… Yeah, it's no problem. I'm glad you're okay. Are you doing better though?—uh—you know, mentally?”

Silence.

“Um… I…”

Pause.

“I'm not… uh…”

Pause.

“I'm not really sure.”

An “Oh…”

Silence.

“Shouyou?”

“Yeah?”

“It can't hurt to ask, right? The worst that could happen is they say no. So, uh, I'll be back in a minute, okay?”

His tone brightened up a bit. “Okay.”

Tobio set the phone down on his bed and stood up, walking out of his bedroom and to the kitchen, where his father last was. Sure enough, the man was sitting, eating his breakfast… next to the boy's mother.

His father looked up.

“Uh, I was, er, wondering… If I could… maybe… spend a night at Hinata’s house…”

His father’s mouth opened to speak, but his mother spoke up first. “No. No way.”

He swallowed back, feeling his heart twist. “Okay—”

“We need to monitor you,” she said.

”I think he could benefit from seeing his friend,” his father murmured, “don't you?”

His mother turned to her husband, folding her arms on the table. “I trust him being within my reach than several miles away.”

_‘It's only a couple…’_

The two adults looked at each other for a few moments before his father looked to the boy. “It's what your mother wishes, Tobio.”

His mother looked to her son. “Please don't be upset. Just a few days like this, okay?” He nodded.

 _‘I would have been fine with just a simple_ No.’

”You want to sit down for breakfast with us?”

_‘Not particularly, but I don't think that's actually a question I have a choice in…’_

“I-I-In a minute…” he turned and went back to his room, closing the door.

The Raven picked up the phone. “Shouyou?”

A couple moments of no response.

“Hey, sorry. You were gone for a little while so I started doing something…”

“It's fine. And… parents said no.” He paused. “Go ahead and get back to whatever you were doing… I have to go.”

“Oh, okay. Could I call you later?”

“Uh. Y-yeah. Sure.”

“Okay. Talk to you later!”

“... Bye…”

Click.

He bit his bottom lip, hesitating before he stood up and went back to the kitchen, setting the phone down on the charger on the counter. He turned back to the table and slowly sat down.

It would be a quiet day for him. Well, in the sense that he didn't really speak at all, just let his parents go on and on about whatever-the-hell (he wasn't paying attention ninety-percent of the time). Although, most of the time, he was laying on the couch, watching something on the TV and his parents were elsewhere.

* * *

It was about 7pm when the phone rang. He continued to lay on the couch, left side against the cushions under him, letting his mother answer the call.

“Oh, sorry. Not tonight. We're about to have dinner, then everyone will be settling for the night.”

Tobio sat up quickly, looking over the back of the couch towards the open archway of the kitchen.

“A good time in the morning would probably be—” The boy stood and made his way for the kitchen.

“Who's that?”

His mother raised an eyebrow and looked at him. She shook her head and waved him off. “It's Shouyou. Just give me a minute.”

“Shouyou?” he echoed.

“A good time would be at least nine.”

“Mom—”

“Okay. Goodnight.”

Click.

“What the hell—?”

“Tobio,” she started, “I think you should spend some more time with me and your father. We want to be here for you. We want to help you. We'll always be here. We'll always love you. We need to come together and be a family. You should put more trust in your family, not your peers from school.”

He blinked, taking a slight step back and folding his arms. “The people I talk to aren't just my peers. They're my teammates, my friends. And Shouyou is even more than that. He's—” _‘Don't…’_ “Honestly, he's probably the only reason I'm still here.” He said that with the idea that Shouyou is a ‘muse’ and not that Shouyou called the police so he could be found.

His mother sighed and shook her head. “Just… _try_ to talk to me or your father. Even if it's about simplistic things.”

He just shrugged and looked down at the ground.

“Come… Sit down and eat.”

 

… And it was a very quiet, awkward dinner.

The boy laid down on the couch for awhile, watching a movie. He heard both his parents walk down the hall and, he assumed, to their room.

When he heard someone walking down the hallway about an hour later, he pretended to be asleep.

“Tobio?” His mother said, several feet away. “Tobio?” She moved around behind him, and the couch, for a little while before she came around in front of him. “Asleep...” She whispered. Then, she walked back to her room.

He'd actually fall asleep later. The idea was that he just didn't want to have to sleep in his parent's room.

 

He didn't spend much time sleeping…

_“… get up.”_

* * *

A mirage of color, kept in the back of his mind, stored on file for later use, when he gives his body over to sleep. Awake, he sees color, too—it's not like he's blind in some fashion—but it's not quite the same.

Sleep opens a realm of impossible possibilities. Things that are impossible, become possible. You could walk on water, or you could fly, or you could nosedive into asphalt and—in a split second—you wake up. Try flying in real life, you'll end up hurt… or dead.

Most of him wishes he were dead; but, a small part whispers, barely audibly, behind a locked door, “Keep going.”

Life in consciousness is a cardboard box. All of us, in our own little boxes.

Just think about it for a moment–Your entire life is nothing more than a box; solitary confinement. Think about life. Does it bother you that you'll have to eat every single day just to survive? Or that you'll have to go to school or work day-in and day-out?—because, let's be honest here, none of us are going to sprout up to be a millionaire—Or that you'll have to brush your teeth twice a day for the rest of your life?

When you get right down to it, we all live the same life; some just experience it in a different way. And we all feel the same emotions; some just experience them in a different way, at different times.

Our existence is a life-long jail sentence, spent in confinement; though some are lucky to have some people in neighboring cells.

Being alive and being _alive_ are two different things.

Next things came in whispers:  
_–… You should get up...–_

Two different voices:  
_\--… You need to-Rest-get up...--_

… He stirs, and rolls into his other side and ignores the voices.

_–… Stand... Wake up…–_

Soft banging, like a fist against a table, but muffled. The voices, however, start becoming louder, more clear, like a “normal” speaking voice.

 _—... Do you hear it?...—_  
That voice echoes, and fades.

Different voices, clashing.  
_\--... Stay. Sleep.-Up, up, up-You need sleep...--_

Clattering, like pans crashing down together.

His eyes snap open, his heart’s beating faster...

_—... Danger...—_

He looks to the left, looking in the direction the voice came from.

Pitter-pat, pitter-pat…

Now, yelling:  
_–... Get. up!...–_

Faster…

Harsh whispers, as if right next to him. He jumps and goes into a sitting position.  
_–—... The clock is ticking for you...—–_

His eyes darted around the room.

_\--... Stay…-Get up…-It’s silent-Can you hear it?-Rest…-It’s coming!...--_

“What is?”

_\--... The door-Tick, tock, tick!-Restless…--_

_–—...Get out!...—–_

His breaths came in fast, his chest heaving, struggling to keep up.

_–... It's almost here!...–_

Knocking on a door.

_–... Up, up, up!...–_

He was standing, body weak and shaky.

_—... Go! Now!...—_

Banging on a door, followed by violent screeching—like that of chalk against a chalkboard.

_—... Security in the bathroom...—_

Not a moment of hesitation, he had shut and locked the bathroom door, heart still racing, chest threatening to cave.

His hand came up and wafted around in the dark, palm pressing against the cool wooden door, feeling around for the light switch. Sure enough, he was squeezing his eyes shut, hands coming up to rub over his light-wounded eyes.

Feet on cool tile. Cool air blowing down on him from the vent above.

_–... Stay awhile…–_

_–—... Breathe… Relax…—–_

_—… Security lies just around the corner...—_

_–… Metal piece...–_

He dropped his hands to his sides and rolled his shoulders back, opening his eyes. He turned his body to face the bathroom. The white-tiled floor had been stained with small pools and splatters of blood.

Confusion.

Light-headedness.

Back against a wall.

Dizziness.

Sliding down to sit.

Hazy vision.

Looking up at the lights overhead.

Squinting.

Looking at his current eye level.

Heavy eyes.

Him beginning to fall sideways.

Black.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, before, I had been saving these in Word as “Unsteady I”, “Unsteady II”, ... “Unsteady VI”.... and I accidentally saved this chapter as “Unsteady X” when it’s really the ninth chapter, so I reverted to using the normal ol’ 1, 2, 3, et c.

… He woke up a while later, alone, still in the bathroom. It was him, alone, that had to clean up his own mess. And it took a long time. One, because he didn’t dare leave the bathroom to try and retrieve ‘actual’ cleaning supplies. Second, the blood had dried up by then, and he had to put some decent effort into scrubbing it with water-soaked wads of toilet paper. He finished it all by tossing the toilet paper into the toilet. Four flushes later (and hiding his blade again), and he was about to leave the bathroom to go back to the living room—as if nothing had happened.  


He realized very quickly, before he had even left the bathroom, that he needed to wrap his wounds in _something_ —what kind of person who does this sort of thing to himself forgets that? Him, apparently.—so, he grabbed the roll of toilet paper and wrapped it around his arms a few times. He was, after all, only really worried about bleeding through sleeves. And this was really only because, in all his experience, his arms and legs are the only things that have the tendency to bleed through his clothing; this is probably because the cloth is pressed so close against the skin, as opposed to his torso, in which his shirt is loose.

The situation is still so fresh, that he may be able to get away with these new wounds in a couple of days, were his parents to see them.

He returned to the couch and laid in a position very close to how he had been lying before, very careful to not aggravate his arms any more than he already had. He had one hand under his head for support, the other to the side. He closed his eyes and, like he normally does to avoid negative images and/or thoughts, imagined a much more pleasant scene in his head…

  
[hr]  


The weekend passed with much monotony and aggravation for the boy. But, on the bright side, his mother finally agreed to let him sleep in his own room—so long as he keeps his door open, with exclusion to him changing clothes, of course. It cannot, she said, be locked, however.  


Seemed only fair...  


The first day back? Oh, he already knew it would be extremely difficult for him. See, people don’t really notice you—that, yes, you exist—until you’ve been gone several days. And then, suddenly, you’re someone of interest, like an up-and-coming celebrity. People ask about you, with the hopes of finding one person who knows. Or, at least someone who has a “reasonable” idea. You know people have talked about you while you were gone. You always do. And it tends to always be confirmed, because someone—at least one person, whether you talk to them often or not—always mentions to you something along the lines of, “We were all wondering where you were! Where did you go?”  


Where _did_ he go? Where was he? What happened to him? What would he tell people when they ask?—Because he knew damn well it was inevitable.—He decided, after much thought and debate the preceding night and on the way to school, to go with “vacation.”  


Where? With who? For what?  


It seemed, to him, he may need to become better at lying or better at improv. Then again, they are kind of synonymous here, aren’t they?  


His mother had parked the car and was getting ready to get out. The boy had already opened the vehicle door and stepped out onto the asphalt. Just as he grabbed his bag and pulled it over his shoulder, his mother spoke up.  


“Tobio.” He froze, heart jumping, and blinked a couple times before bending over slightly and looking into the open door at her. She had an arm extended, palm opened upward, a few small pills on top. He reached a hand towards hers, and she turned her hand sideways and let the little things fall into the boy’s palm. “Just get some water from a fountain inside, okay?”  


He nodded.  


She smiled and turned away, getting out of the car. The boy stood up, shoving his hand into his right pants pocket. He dropped the pills there then shut the car door and followed behind his mother towards the school.  


He felt like a toddler, walking with his mother at school, but the school would not permit him to return “unless a legal guardian and/or parent accompany the student—[Kageyama Tobio]—to have a meeting with the principal and/or vice-principal, school counselor, and a social worker, in which the accompanying adult bring documented proof of the student’s absence; details of incident may be requested, but these may be denied. The meeting will discuss a plan to continue forward with school, whether by continuing in on-campus enrollment, or through a program such as ‘homebound’.”  


That is a kind of summary, pushing away from all the legal talk people shove in there, yet still sounding semi-formal.  


And as for the meeting—we’ll cut that out. After all, it is rather boring.  


Tobio would be returning to school, like he was only out because he was sick—(is that even a complete lie?)—and was just now, today, returning. Like… everything was ‘normal’.  
His mother left and, strangely, he felt a sense of loneliness. ‘Strangely’ because earlier, as he felt like a toddler, he wanted her to just go away and walk by himself, alone. Now, in the dead-silent hallway—all the other students in class—he felt severely isolated, and cripplingly lonely.  


He was dragging his feet as he walked, tripping on himself a couple times, to class. As he made it to the classroom door, saw light peeking out of the window, he remembered his own little light, his own little sun: Shouyou. He would, undoubtedly, see that boy today.  


_Shouyou…_  
He exhaled deeply, pleasantly, mood slightly lifted. Unlike previous days, he pulled the door open, face softened and corners of his lips slightly raised into a small smile.  


He stopped by the teacher’s desk, telling him to check his emails regarding the boy and his long absence, before going to sit in his assigned seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> — busy with school.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A very short chapter

The only thing he looked forward to was class change, where he’d have opportunity to see the orange fluff. But, it’s different talking on the phone and talking face-to-face. The idea to him, now, made him nervous; then again, most of everything makes him nervous and gives him anxiety.

When did it all go so wrong?

It’s not a good idea for him to think of that. It triggers negative thoughts; and he is currently at a point where, once it starts, there’s no stopping it—like neurons, the ‘all or nothing’ rule.

Class was long for him. He was incredibly disengaged the whole time. He tried to pay attention, he really did, but he just couldn’t. He heard what the teacher was saying and invested all of his attention to the teacher (as to not tempt any negative thoughts), but he didn’t actually listen. Nothing stuck. He’d already forgotten the whole lecture by the time he stepped out into the hallway.

He decided to say “Fuck it” to the day. He wanted to go home. He, however, did not wish to call his mother or father.

He carried his school bag over his shoulder, so he didn’t need to hold the strap to ensure its place, but he did hold it. He felt that he needed to mess with the strap, so he did. It didn’t help his anxiety much, however. Out of nowhere, he heard his name being called. He looked up from the linoleum floor, and started to look around. Sure enough, he saw Sugawara waving and hurrying over. Tobio stopped walking and stepped to the side of the hallway as to not be in people’s way.

He was relieved to see who it was, but also disappointed. Relieved that it wasn’t Hinata. Disappointed that it wasn’t Hinata.

“How long have you been out?” He didn’t wait for a response. “You totally just dropped off the face of the earth! Where were you?”

 _I didn’t rehearse my lines enough._ he thought.

“Uh—” so began his stuttering and frantic search for words. “W-Well… See I…” _Stop talking. You sound like an idiot._ “Grandparents.” He managed to say, exasperatedly.

Sugawara had made a face the younger boy hadn’t seen before.

“... You okay?”

Was he getting red? He couldn’t tell. But he could feel his heart beating faster and his face heating up, along with his body as he began to sweat. He could only assume.

“O-Of-Of course!” He paused, trying to pull some improv. In other words: trying to lie believably. “I just… feel sick this morning. A—uh—headache, and feeling a little nauseous.”

“Oh. Think you should see the nurse then…” he dropped the weird face finally. “I want to encourage you to go home if you feel so badly, but you’ve been out for so long already…”

A little slower as he focused on each word that followed: “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me. I’m going to see the nurse now. See you later.” He picked up his walking pace and sped away before Sugawara could say anything more.

Wow. He could barely face one team member, how will he ever manage to face the whole team? On one hand, he would have Shouyou there… but that doesn’t replace the fact that he will have to face the entire team. He didn’t want to quit entirely. That’s the last thing he wanted to do.

… Second to last…

Sure enough—“deus ex machina”-like—he saw Shouyou. His chest tightened and he sucked in a breath before holding it, eyes widening at the sight. When the orange-haired boy looked at him, he got a sudden, overwhelming urge to cry… and he was sure as hell not going to cry in front of the entire school, so he turned on his heels and ran to the bathroom he remembered passing some moments before.

He didn’t want to cry in front of anyone. Crying, to him, made you seem weak. He could not let anyone see how weak he really is. He’s the “strong one”. The “tough guy”. And, if anyone saw him cry, that would certainly give them more ammunition to fire at him. It would be something he would never be able to live down.

He immediately dove into one of the stalls, making sure he locked the door, turning his back so no one could see his face through the crack. He put a hand over his mouth, breathing in while his lips quivered and his eyebrows furrowed. He shut his eyes tight and felt a few hot tears run down his cheeks.

Even now, he was trying _desperately_ to hold back, to try and quickly mop up this bucket of emotions he just spilled.

He didn’t know how long he spent in there — at least ten minutes, but definitely more. The orange fluff never entered the bathroom. The boy was kind of glad that he didn’t because he was certain he would have been unable to hold back and would have lost it. He felt like he could entrust Shouyou with his weak side, and that it would be okay, that “whatever happens in the bathroom, stays in the bathroom.”


End file.
